As a (mature) student, I was power-walking about 40 miles a week to/from the university, round the campus and shopping. I'd stopped eating meat and given up alcohol except for when I went home in the holidays. As a result, my weight had dropped to 10 stone 10 pounds by the time I graduated in 1986. I'm a medium build and 6' 1", so for me that was seriously skinny! (My party trick at the time was to slide a roll of Sellotape over my wrist and all the way up my arm to my armpit!

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I got a stressful job and to unwind in the evenings I was drinking again and pigging out on cheese and pickle sandwiches. And of course - I wasn't power-walking 40 miles a week any more either ...
By summer 1989, I had ballooned up to 16 stone 5 pounds, my heaviest ever. I felt terrible. One particularly humiliating episode finally convinced me that it was time to do something about my weight problem and dodgy lifestyle. (I'd got caught out in a thunderstorm in the company car park and had been unable to run for cover with the man who gave me a lift, and who was nearly 30 years older than me. I squelched into the office some minutes later, red-faced and gasping for breath, to find him relaxing with a cup of coffee at his desk.)
So there I was, one evening in early July, 1989. I'd got home, turned on the TV and discovered that something interesting was just coming on Channel 4 - the Tour de France! (I'd loved cycling as a child, but cycling ha ended for me when my bike was stolen from the school bike sheds when I was 13 years old.) I soon got hooked on that year's Tour ...
This was the year of the titanic scrap between Lemond and Fignon, culminating in Lemond's famous 8 second victory. I watched that final stage and found myself thinking the magic words -
"I want to be a cyclist again!" I went out a week or two later and bought myself a Specialized racing bike for £400.
And that was that ...
My love of cycling has been tested by drug taking in the pro cycling ranks, my constant weight fluctuations, sunburn, chav attacks, dog attacks, minor crashes, minor injuries, major bonking, and wildly over-optimistic estimates of my fitness leading to long, painful rides home alone. Despite that, it's 22 years later and I'm still riding. I'm just so grateful that I happened to turn the TV on that July evening in 1989. Thanks Greg, and
R.I.P. Laurent!